


Play Ball

by BatuuPrincess



Series: Damerey Week 2020 [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27214339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatuuPrincess/pseuds/BatuuPrincess
Summary: At 38 years old, former ace pitcher Poe Dameron’s career is rounding third and coming home.With his injured shoulder barely hanging on and a tricky season-ending surgery not an option, this is his last shot in the majors before retirement.Rey had always dreamed of working in baseball. When by some miracle, she gets a job with her home team, the last thing she’s expecting is to befriend legend Poe Dameron. As the season marches on and sparks fly, they find themselves hopelessly entangled.But now it’s game 7 of the World Series and it’s all on the line.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Rey
Series: Damerey Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976626
Comments: 26
Kudos: 25





	Play Ball

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, a couple of things. This is an incredibly self-indulgent AU I've been sitting on for a while. It's not going to be popular, but I'm a huge baseball fan so I'm writing it anyway. Also, my home team is the Cleveland Indians. Yes, the name sucks, and it is getting changed, but they haven't announced the new one yet. I probably could have made a new name up, but a chunk of this has been written for a while so I'm going with what I know. 
> 
> With that out of the way, this is going to be a fun one. Lots of training and bickering and plenty of Poe without a shirt on. I hope that even if you aren't a baseball fan, you enjoy these two falling in love over 162 games.

Now

This was his favorite part of the game. Screw the first pitch or the seventh inning stretch or even the walk off. No, the best part of baseball was that sweet, sweet anticipation. It built slowly, starting from the moment you woke up. Game day. 

Everything, and he meant everything, was done in service of the nine innings you were about to play, from the breakfast you chose to your morning shit to the very shoes you put on your feet. You ate right, tried to clear your mind, and got to the field as early as they’d open the gates for you.

Sitting in front of his locker, he looked around at his guys. The twenty men who would be backing him up both at the plate and in the field. They all kept their distance. Baseball, above all else, was about superstition. Win streak? You don’t shave, you don’t change your socks, hell if you really want it to stick you skip the shower. On a slide? Change bats, new uniform, fuck it, you gotta completely shave your head. And most importantly, you never, ever talk to a pitcher when he’s in the zone.

Sure, he’d joked with the guys through batting practice and warm ups. That was the easy stuff. He’d jogged and done his long tosses with Finn. Stretched and talked shit with Snap. Gone into the bullpen and thrown some real stuff, the fastballs, that nasty curve he was known for.

The home crowd was electric as they filed into the stands. But then again, they had been the entire run. From game one of the wildcard through game 6 of the World Series. He could hear them, screaming, chanting, a few even calling his name. Each and every one put a drop of fire in his blood. 

The clock on the scoreboard counted down the final minutes until the game. Ten, no nine to go. 

As Poe tried not to think too hard about that, Han stood at the top of the dugout, waving them back in. He had quiet words for a few of the guys as they piled into the dugout, though more back slaps and atta boys than anything else. He stopped dead when Poe appeared in front of him. 

That old crooked smile appeared on his face. “Look, I know you know what’s at stake, probably better than any of these boys. And I know you know what you gotta do. So I’m gonna save my breath and tell you that I know you’ve got this, son. Let’s go win this thing.”

Poe gave him a rare smile, accepting the slap on the back and administering one of his own before dropping into the dugout.

He found Snap on the bench, the only other true veteran on the team. 

He tilted his head at Poe. “One last time?”

“One last time,” Poe intoned, working through the complicated handshake they’d made back in the early season. Old guy club.

All the while, the announcer had been reading the starting line up of the opposing team, boos cropping up whenever they hit a guy who had done damage against them. Which was a lot. 

How the hell did they manage to blow a 3-1 series lead?

But now was not the time for unanswerable questions, not when the announcer’s next words blared across the stadium. 

“And now, for the starting line up of your Cleveland Indians!”

This was the hardest part, the waiting while his teammates were called up one by one. The plight of the pitcher.

“And on the mound, the one, the only, POE DAMERON!”

At the sound of his name, the crowd grew deafening. It had been years since he’d heard anything but epithets and curses muttered with his name. What a difference a single season could make.

He strode out onto the field, giving a little wave to the fans. The cheers only grew louder. Poe closed his eyes, soaking it in. He wanted to remember this moment for the rest of his life.

They’d gotten some pop star of the moment to sing the anthem, and Poe doffed his hat like the rest of them. As the music swelled and he looked around the stadium, there wasn’t a single seat to be had, every available space - standing or seated - filled by a body.

Poe was not a religious man, never had been. But the ballpark had always been his church. The signs, his prayers. The national anthem, the only hymn he ever needed. And the balls and strikes he lived and died by were the only god he’d ever known.

And this, well this was end times. Win or lose, there was no tomorrow. 

The anthem concluded with its usual gusto, the singer drawing out the final note longer than should have been possible even as fireworks exploded around the ballpark. 

It was a quick jog to the mound amid the screams, just 60 feet standing between him and Finn. 60 feet between winning and losing. 60 feet between a championship and second place. 

He circled the mound for a second. Stood on the rubber, bounced a bit on the balls of his feet, getting the feel for it. Running a cleat behind it, he made it his own, digging a trench in the dirt until his foot fit just so. There was a little bag of rosin that he picked up, making sure his grip was just right. But it didn’t matter, his hands were dry as a bone as he blocked everything out around, the screams, the sounds, the music, even the announcements, it was all secondary to the ball in his hand and the mitt it needed to go into. 

He threw one practice pitch. And then another. Each one hitting the target with deadly precision. 

That was in no small part to Finn, who even behind the catcher’s mask Poe could tell was smiling. He was always smiling. And it didn’t hurt that Finn knew him like the back of his hand. He knew Poe’s strengths, his weaknesses, how to get the most out of each and every pitch. He called the best game in the majors, and that’s why Poe wouldn’t take the mound with anyone else behind the plate.

In the end, on defense, it came down to them. If they did their job, the rest of the team could have a nice little rest before batting.

Warm ups were over. The umpire was getting ready behind the plate. He could see the man he was about to face taking swings in front of the dugout.

Poe looked around the stadium, that cool calm washing over him. 

He had told himself he wasn’t going to do it. No good could come of looking for her, not in this moment. He’d said his piece and now the ball was in her court, to use a different sport’s metaphor. But still his eyes sought her out, finding her all too easily in her usual spot.

She was just finishing up a report, her voice separating itself from the rest of the crowd.

“... and with it all on the line, we’ll see if our young Tribe has what it takes to come out on top and bring home the Championship. Al, Ryan, that’s back to you.”

The camera clicked off and Rey visibly relaxed, shoulders sagging slightly under the lack of scrutiny. Then, as if she could feel his gaze on her, she turned, those eyes, so bright under the lights, latching on to his.

He forgot to worry, forgot to think, forgot to breathe as the moment between them stretched, reaching toward infinity. So much between them. So many words left unspoken. One major question left hanging.

Her eyes never left his as her lips quirked up into an almost-smile, the tip of her head imperceptible to everyone but him. Never to him. That was a yes.

Game 7. World Series. Play ball. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Ready to rewind and see how they got to this place? Stay tuned for more chapters of Play Ball after Damerey Week!


End file.
